


Blue Bloods

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Arson, F/M, Female Reader, Fire, John Winchester AU, Masterbation, Supernatural AU - Freeform, dean winchester au, sam winchester au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:56:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6800836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is burning down buildings and getting off on it; someone close to John, the Lawrence Police Commissioner. Will one of the top homicide detectives and the assistant district attorney, John’s own sons, Dean and Sam, catch the arsonist before it’s too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The explosion brought everything to a halt. It didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing, the entirety of Lawrence felt the shock wave; even on the outskirts of town.

You pulled yourself off the kitchen floor, not caring that the now broken vase bit into your palm, drawing blood; there was something bigger that held your attention. The knot deep in your belly wound tight and it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

_The police station._

You didn’t need to turn on the news to know which building exploded. There had always been threats against the men in blue, but the last six months had those men on high alert. Today was the day those threats had been acted upon.

The lack of sound as you ran from your house was less than slightly disturbing. There was no sound only because the blood rushing in your ears made it feel like they were plugged with cotton, muting everything and everyone around you. Even the shrill cries of your best friends as you ran down the street didn’t register. All you could think of was your husband and son.

You slid to a stop as you rounded the corner of 5th street. Even from six blocks away you could see them, angry red and orange flames stood out against the now dark grey sky, and that’s when your ears popped. The years of being a nurse kicked in and while everyone would be rushing away from the destruction, you ran toward it. Almost breathless and turning the corner of 11th street, you were driven to the cement when another bomb exploded behind you. This one was bigger than the first and made you feel like you were going to throw up.

_No! Please no. Not my baby, too._

Someone grabbed your arm and pulled you from the ground. Their face was a blur and they sounded like they were at the other end of a tunnel. He shook you none-too-gently, “Mrs. Winchester, can you hear me? Hey! Look at me. Mrs. Winchester!”

You gripped the dark blue lapels of Cole Trenton’s rookie blues and opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Before trying again, you swallowed the massive lump in your throat. Having succeeded only slightly, your voice was thick, “Tell me they’re safe, Cole.”

He ground his teeth and dug his fingers into your shoulders, “I… I don’t know."

* * *

 

**7 MONTHS AGO**

Elbow deep in lukewarm water and bubbles, the sounds of your family drifted in and put a smile on your face. Even though they were in the middle of yet another argument, your family was together; what more could a mother want? Wait… you knew the answer to that. You could really do without the arguing.

“I don’t care, son. The law is the law! It doesn’t matter if he’s 16 or 60.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed, “But dad-”

“Sammy, that punk burned down a house.”

“Because he had no other-”

John smacked the table, rattling the crystal center piece, “He had plenty of choices, son. But burnin’ down a house just because of his daddy? Not a good enough reason.”

Sam looked over at his brother, “Lemme guess, you agree with dad.”

Shrugging, Dean leaned back in his chair, “Old man’s got a point.”

“Of course he does. Jesus, I don’t fuckin’ believe this.”

With a towel in your hands, you came into the dining area, “Watch your mouth.”

Sam’s face softened as he dropped his hands to the table, “Sorry, mom.”

“Honey, I know this case isn’t an easy one, but-”

Your youngest son shot out of his chair, “What… is it gang up on Sam day?” Before you could stop him, he stormed out of the room and slammed the front door behind him.

When you started to follow, John huffed, “Let him go, Y/N.”

“Would it kill you to just hear him out and not put in your two cents about every damn thing?”

Dean’s eyes sparkled mischievously, “Language, mom.”

With an arched brow, you stared hard at your oldest son, “Don’t start with me, boy.” While John had always been the ‘real’ disciplinarian in the house, both your boys knew better than to test you. And nothing tested you more than business at the dinner table.

“He’s trying to get the charges reduced from arson!” As if that would explain everything.

Muttering under your breath, you draped the towel over your shoulder, you grabbed Sam’s forgotten beer and finished it off while walking into the kitchen, “After 30 years, you’d think I’d be used to this by now.” Every family had their own set of issues, so it wasn’t like your family was one of a kind. But with a police Commissioner for a husband, a homicide detective and assistant district attorney for sons, your life was interesting, to say the least.

You jumped slightly when strong arms wrapped around your waist. With a sigh, John pressed a kiss to your temple, “I’m sorry, baby. You know how I get.” The thick bass of his voice could be felt in your very core.

Closing your eyes and sighing in frustration, you leaned back against his shoulder, “I know, John. It’s just… you two are always buttin’ heads.”

Several days worth of salt-and-pepper hair covered his chin and cheeks, which tickled the crook of your neck as he peppered you with kisses, “Cuz we’re so much alike, right?”

You turned in his arms and looped yours around his neck, “You are two of the most stubborn men I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

Chewing on his bottom lip, he winked, “You love us.”

His hair was starting to get too long, curling over the collar of his light blue dress shirt. You twirled it in your fingers, scraping your nails against his scalp as they moved through the strands, “Someone has to, right?”

John rubbed his nose against yours and you could smell the whiskey on his breath, “No one else is better equipped for the job.” His hands were on your ass, pulling you into him as he captured your lips in his.

“Get a room, you two!” Dean dropped the empty beer bottle into the recycling bin and leaned against the door frame.

Shaking your head, you walked around your husband, “We got plenty of rooms, son.”

He rolled his pine and amber eyes and pulled you into a hug, “Thanks for lunch, mom, but I gotta head out.”

After kissing his cheek, you tried to hide the smirk, but failed,  “Yeah? Someone important?”

“Come on, ma. Stop it.”

“What? I’m not getting any younger, you know. I want to see you settle down-”

“And raise a family. I know, I know.”

You chuckled and kissed his cheek again, “Go on before your father and I make you wish you hadn’t even stepped in the room.”

“Damn it, ma!”

“Language!” You called after him as he waved to the pair of you over his shoulder.

John barely waited for the door to latch before he turned you in arms and dipped you, his lips were barely a whisper away, “Before we were so rudely interrupted, where were we, Mrs. Winchester?”


	2. Chapter 2

**PRESENT**

_You gripped the dark blue lapels of Cole Trenton’s rookie blues and opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Before trying again, you swallowed the massive lump in your throat. Having succeeded only slightly, your voice was thick, “Tell me they’re safe, Cole.”_

_He ground his teeth and dug his fingers into your shoulders, “I… I don’t know.”_

Confusion joined the fear boiling in your belly, “What do you mean you don’t know? Where are they?!” You moved to push past him, to run into the thick cloud of debris, to find your husband and son. Then you remembered the district attorney’s office behind you, the place where your youngest son worked, the place that just exploded. Never had you wanted to be in two places at one time until now.

Cole gripped your shoulders tighter, enough that you knew you’d wear bruises, “I can’t let you go, ma’am.”

And that’s when the screaming started from deep within the blaze.

* * *

**6 MONTHS AGO**

You walked into John’s office, jacket and purse draped over your arm and carrying a brown paper bag.

John, smiling at your arrival, pulled off his reading glasses as he stood, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need an excuse to see my husband?”

He kissed you warmly, cupping your face with one hand while the other fell to the small of your back. “You never need an excuse.”

Dropping down from the balls of your feet, you smoothed the lapel of his commissioner blues, tracing a finger over the pin he received when he was inaugurated. “My lunch with Margie got cancelled, thought we could eat together.” You didn’t miss the slight flinch in his right eye, “That is, unless you’re busy.”

“No. It’s just-”

That’s when you noticed the paperwork on his desk, “The arson case.”

John sat behind his desk while you took the chair opposite, “You don’t like it when I talk business.”

You chuckled softly, gesturing at the room, “I came here, where _you_ work; let’s talk business.”

“Everything is pointing to this kid,” replacing his glasses, John dropped his gaze to the open file, “Ben Braeden.”

“I sense a but coming,” you pulled a roast beef and provolone sandwich from the bag.

“But he’s got a solid alibi.” He shot you a wink as he took the offered meal.

Crossing your legs, you pulled your own sandwich and began unwrapping it from the wax paper, “For both of the fires?” John nodded as he chewed his food. A second fire had all but destroyed the city library two weeks ago, claiming the life of librarian Ellen Harvelle.

“His mom says they were at the movies; theater confirmed two tickets were purchased.”

Swallowing a bite, you shifted in the chair as unease prickled the back of your neck, “Surveillance?”

John took another bite, shrugging before cheeking the food to talk, “Dean’s working on getting a warrant. The manager said their cameras have been on the fritz.”

“Of course. And let me guess, the teller that was working that night doesn’t remember if they were or weren’t there.”

“You got it.”

* * *

Sam sat behind his desk, dress shirt rolled past his elbows, tie pulled loose, and the top two buttons undone. Files were spread out before him, all but taunting him. To say he was frustrated would be putting it mildly. He was stressed to the max, running his hands through his hair so often, he thought for sure clumps of it would be falling out.

Everything seemed to point to Ben, a 17 year old high school dropout that had a history of violence and always seemed to be carrying a zippo lighter, flicking the lid open and closed with his thumb. Only problem was there was nothing to go off of. No prints, no witnesses, no surveillance; nothing. Just that in-the-depth-of-your-bones feeling that made the back of your neck prickle whenever you looked at him.

Blowing out a heavy breath, Sam picked up the phone and pressed a button. The line rang less than two times before the call connected.

“Homicide, this is Winchester.”

“You gettin’ anywhere with that warrant?”

Dean chuckled as he leaned back in his chair, “I’m doin’ fine, thanks for askin’, Sammy.”

Sam squeezed the back of his neck, “Not in the mood. You get that warrant or not?”

“You would’a been my first call. Judge is stonewalling us, brother.” Judge Turner was known for being an old stick in the mud, doing things in his own time, and making you damn near beg before signing anything.

“Does he know about Harvelle?” Sam’s temper flared and he knew his neck was turning red.

“Yeah, Sammy, old man knows about her. We’ve given him everything we’ve got.”

“What the fuck?”

Mimicking their mother, Dean smirked, “Watch your language.”

That pulled a chuckle from Sam. “See you at dinner?”

“Six sharp, you know ma.”

After hanging up the phone, Sam pushed another button, “Charlie, can you get me in with Judge Turner right away?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thanks.” Sam leaned back with a sigh, he only hoped he could convince Turner to sign the warrant before it was too late.

* * *

Blood pumped hard through his veins as he poured nail polish remover away from the middle of the room. The house was old, dilapidated, abandoned; no one would miss it. Hell, he was doing the town a favor by removing the eyesore. He tossed the almost empty bottle to the side and pulled in a deep breath. The acetone stung his nose, making his eyes prick in irritation, but he blinked away the tears and pulled the book of matches from his pocket. They were from the 7-eleven on the other side of town, palmed when the cashier focused his attention on the fake ID used to buy cigarettes. It wasn’t that they cost money or anything like that, it was the spark in his veins at just the _thought_ of getting caught that fueled his need to steal. It was the hit he needed to get by until he could feed his real addiction; fire.

He struck a match and dropped it between his feet, watching as the small blue flame singed the stick before meeting the accelerant. The flame grew as it zipped along, reaching the pile of cardboard boxes, newspapers, and various pieces of wood that had been left in the house after the last tenant foreclosed. The sight of the flames erupting with a pop made him shift on his feet. He pressed his hand against his half-hard dick, moaning at the pressure of his own touch. He wanted to pull it out of his jeans and get off to the sight and sound of the flames, but the smoke had begun to get too thick, and if he didn’t get out of the house quickly, he’d be caught for sure. He had just darted behind another abandoned house when lights started to flick on and people emerged from their houses shouting that _someone should call 911_.

Knowing it was a risk, he unzipped his jeans and hissed as he gripped himself, smearing the drips of pre-cum along his shaft. He stroked himself as the flames grew, shattering the windows so the humid air could feed the hungry fire. Red and blue lights pulsed and sirens screamed as emergency vehicles approached, but none of that tore his focus away from his task. With a hand braced against the rusty siding, he twitched against his hand as the pressure built and his balls drew up. He gulped at the smoke-filled air, holding it hostage as he came. Even as he shook and his vision blurred from lack of oxygen, he didn’t breathe until every last drop of cum dripped to the ground.

His lungs burned as he zipped up his jeans and was going to watch as the firemen struggled to kill the flames, but when he raised his head, someone was looking at the house he had hid behind. It didn’t matter that he _knew_ he couldn’t be seen, the urge to run made his heart stutter. Dark eyes darted back and forth before he was joined by another detective and a conversation was started. Goosebumps dotted his skin when not one, but two pairs of eyes turned his way.

 _Shit!_ He pushed away from the house and tore through the alley.

* * *

**PRESENT**

Cole had a constant grip on you; an arm behind your shoulders and the other entwined with yours as ambulances and firetrucks crowded the streets. If he wasn’t there to hold you back from running into the chaos, to hold you off the ground, you don’t know what kind of shape you’d be in. But the weight of his arm and hands, the support he offered without saying a word was exactly what you needed right now.

EMT’s and firemen sprinted in and out of the blaze, some bringing forth survivors while others carried the deceased. With every passing minute, the knot in your stomach grew bigger, climbing up your throat, threatening to burst out at any moment.

“Mom?!”  With your heart in your throat, you turned to your son and let out a sob as he ran into your arms, burying his ash-streaked face in your neck.

“Thank God you’re ok!” Your voice was thick, barely audible to anyone but the two of you.

“I’m fine. Where’s dad?”

Lifting your face from his chest, you shook your head and bit your bottom lip, “I… I don’t know.”

Hazel eyes went wide as they looked past you, “Dean?”

Cole spoke up when you couldn’t, “Neither of them have come out.”


	3. Chapter 3

**6 MONTHS AGO**

Adjusting the holster on his hip, Dean walked down the street and ducked under the yellow police tape, his partner not far behind him. The flames were hot, crackling as they reached toward the night sky, chasing the dark smoke it produced.

He stopped next to the Chief Singer with a hand on his hips, “We lookin’ at the same guy?”

“Dunno, son. We just got here.”

Dean scraped a hand over his face, “Son of a bitch.”

Turning to look at the detective, Bobby placed a hand on his shoulder, “We’ll git him. Let’s hope he slipped up and left somethin’ for us this time.”

Shaking his head, Dean knew that even if something had been left behind in the house, the flames had destroyed it. They were no closer to nailing this guy tonight than they were a month ago, or even two weeks ago. His blood boiled at the thought of the fire that claimed the life of a close family friend. It was hard enough, Jo losing her father at a young age to cancer, but now her mother? It was more than anyone should have to go through.

A sound that didn’t belong cut through the chaos and pricked Dean’s ears. He looked over his shoulder and saw… nothing. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary and yet, there was this sense of unease between his shoulder blades that crept up his neck. Squinting his eyes, he tried to narrow in on where the sound came from and was just about to check out the property when his partner approached.

Benny dropped his head in greeting, “You got anything, brother?”

Dean shrugged and ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, “I’m not sure.”

“Your gut tellin’ you somethin’?”

“I just thought I heard something.”

“Well then, let’s check it out.”

* * *

 

Sam knocked on the open door, smiling in what he hoped was a friendly manner when Judge Turner looked over the rims of his glasses.

“Gonna crowd my door all day or you comin’ in?”

Chuckling nervously, Sam stepped into the room, “Shall I close the door, sir?”

“Nah, I have a feeling this won’t take long. What can I do for you, son?” Rufus clasped his fingers together, resting them in the middle of an open file; the very same file Sam was there to discuss.

Sam unbuttoned his suit jacket as he sat across from the judge, “I see you’re looking over the file.”

“I am.”

Forcing a small smile, Sam cleared his throat, “Have you come to a decision about the warrant?”

Rufus sat there for a moment and stared at Sam. “I’m not going to sign it.”

Sam sputtered, “Why not?”

“Frankly, there’s not enough evidence.”

“A woman is dead! What more evidence do you need?!”

Rufus sat back and pulled off his glasses, “Watch your tone with me, boy.”

Sam clenched his jaw as he struggled to reign in his anger, “I’m sorry, your honor. It’s just-,”

“You need more evidence. Everything in here,” long black fingers tapped the open file, “is circumstantial at best. There is nothing concrete.”

“There was another fire last night.”

The older man nodded and replaced his glasses, “I heard, yes. No one was harmed this time?”

“Correct, but there was a discovery at this fire. Semen was found behind a house across the street.”

Rufus took the offered file and looked through all the pictures and documentation; everything looked in order. “You get the DNA results?”

 _Fuck!_ “Not yet, sir. We got a rush on ‘em, but-”

“I’m not signing the warrant until those results come back a match to the suspect.”

* * *

 

Back in his office, Sam took off his jacket and threw it against the wall, growling angrily as he ripped off his tie. “Fuckin’ ridiculous!” Despite the fact that having a warrant signed would make things easier for everyone involved, Sam knew deep in his bones that no judge would ever sign off on it. When Rufus said the evidence was circumstantial… that was putting it nicely. Plain and simple, they had nothing!

Sam dropped in his chair, sighing heavily when someone knocked, “Anything I can get you, boss?”

“The DNA results back yet?” He didn’t mean to snap at her.

Charlie sniggered loudly, “You’re kidding, right? You know how long those tests take.”

“Yeah, unfortunately I do,” Sam squeezed the bridge of his nose and yawned.

“Did you even go home last night?”

Sam rolled his shoulders as he sat up, “For a couple hours.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like hell.”

Smirking, Sam turned on his computer, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

“Seems to be the motto in your family. This came while you were with Turner; a copy of the fire report,” Charlie set a file in front of Sam.

* * *

 

You tucked into John’s side, his long legs stretched out, pushing the swing lazily. It was the perfect time of night when the sun was setting, taking the edge of humidity with it. John dropped a kiss to your crown, sighing when he breathed you in.

“Ok there, Johnny?” With your hand on his chest, his heart beat steadily against your palm.

Another sigh drifted across your scalp, “I’m fine.” They stereotypical Winchester answer that said they were anything but fine.

You tipped your head back, the stubble on his chin grazing your nose as you moved, and drug your nails through the hair on the back of his neck, “John Winchester, if you think you can appease me with ‘I’m fine’, then you don’t know me at all.”

John couldn’t stop from smirking, “Just thinkin’, that’s all.”

“Have you got the results back?”

“No, it’s too soon,” John took a sip of whiskey, savoring it on the back of his tongue before swallowing the spicy drink.

“And there’s nothing else.”

“Only if the bastard makes a mistake.”

You dropped a kiss to the hollow of his neck, “Well then, let’s hope the bastard makes a mistake.”

* * *

 

**PRESENT**

_“I’m fine. Where’s dad?”_

_Lifting your face from his chest, you shook your head and bit your bottom lip, “I… I don’t know.”_

_Hazel eyes went wide as they looked past you, “Dean?”_

_Cole spoke up when you couldn’t, “Neither of them have come out.”_

Sam’s brows drew together and moved to rip off his jacket. You knew what he was going to do and there was no chance in hell you were about to let him do it.

“Baby, no.” Your hands on his lapels and eyes filling with tears were the only things that stopped him from pushing you away and running into the chaos. You hadn’t seen your son cry in years, not since burying Henry. So when his chin quaked and his eyes filled with tears, it pulled a sob from the depths of your belly that shook your entire body. He wrapped his long arms around you and held you close as you cried; not in mourning, no. Because you refused to believe that your husband and son were dead, you’d feel it in your bones if they were. You cried for the ones you knew were dead and injured, and you cried because no matter what anyone did to catch the son of a bitch, nothing worked. 

* * *

 

**6 MONTHS AGO**

With his heart pounding violently in his throat, the pathology technician took the brown paper bag and signed the chain of custody form. Kevin smiled, thanked him, and handed the form back, turning around to start the semi-lengthy process of getting it ready to run through the database.

“Come on rookie, let’s get somethin’ to eat,” Gabriel bumped his partner’s shoulder, making him jump slightly.

Blue eyes darted back and forth almost wildly, “Nah, I’m good.”

“Dude, we’re gonna catch this worthless shit head. But in the meantime,” he tapped the toothpick between his teeth, “you know chicks dig a man in uniform.”

“Shut up, Gabe.”

“I mean it, you should see how the ladies swoon,” the older officer wiggled his eyebrows as he grabbed his partner’s shoulder and forcefully turned him around.

As they walked away, he looked over his shoulder and watched Kevin type furiously at the keyboard, starting the nation-wide search. Panic clawed at his heart and churned his stomach, threatening to empty itself all over the elevator floor. The doors _swished_ closed just as faces began flashing on the monitor.


	4. Chapter 4

**6 MONTHS AGO**

He barely managed to get Gabe off his back by saying he wasn’t feeling well, stomach ache; which wasn’t that far from the truth. All he could think about, all he wanted to do was hack into the Lawrence PD database and make sure he hadn’t made a mistake the last time he phonied his record. Not that he actually thought he’d get caught, but everyone had that shred of self-doubt telling them how fucked up they were, how everything they touched went to shit, right?

Wearing boxers and a dark blue LPD shirt, he typed furiously, praying a match hadn’t yet been found. It took less than a minute - they really needed better security - before he was seeing the same screen as Kevin. With a heavy sigh of relief, he slumped over the keyboard; the system was still searching for a match, which meant his falsified record was perfect. Despite the surge of uncertainty when that asshole Winchester found his cum, the excitement previously felt rippled just beneath the surface. Like a fucking addict, he already craved another hit. But it would have to wait.

**5 MONTHS AGO**

Dean’s leg bounced rapidly, something he only did when he was agitated and it was really starting to annoy Benny. “Brother, if you don’t stop, Imma cut your leg off.”

Pine and amber eyes snapped into focus, “Sorry, man.”

“This case gettin’ to ya?”

Dean blew out a heavy breath as he dropped the pen, “I just feel like I’m missing something.”

Benny mirrored the way his partner was sitting; elbows on his desk, “We all feel that way, brother.”

“No… I mean… something huge, Benny. I feel like it’s staring me in the face and I can’t see it.” Scraping a hand over his face, Dean leaned back in his chair. Benny was about to say something reassuring when his computer chimed. Both detectives opened the email from Kevin.

Dean was the one to slap his hand against the desk, “Son of a bitch!” There was no match in any DNA database, Kevin was going to expand the search to international.

* * *

 

Sam was locking his office door when his phone chirped. He quickly opened the email, whispering the words to himself as he read. He gripped the phone in his hand, fighting the urge to throw it down the hall. He had been so damn sure they would find a match! Quickly finding his brother’s desk phone, he connected the call.

It was as if Dean expected his brother to call, “I’m going back to the house, Sam.”

“How could there not be a match?!” Sam was breathing heavy as he all but stormed out of the building. It was late and there was no way in hell he was going to let Turner know the results until the last possible second.

“If I have to explain to you that not every single person in the United States is in the database-,”

“FUCK! That’s it, it’s over.”

“Sam, stop, ok? We’ll nail the son of a bitch. It’s just going to take a little bit longer.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam dropped behind the wheel of his Prius, “Tell that to the next person he kills.” That’s when he threw his phone. It clattered to the floor after bouncing off the back seat.

* * *

 

John dropped the phone into the cradle, rubbing at his temple. You came up next to him and peered up at him until his eyes fluttered open.

“DNA’s not a match,” he sounded so tired.

You placed your hand on his chest, which he covered with his much larger one, “So what’s next?”

“Dean and Benny are going to head back, see if there’s something they and CSU missed.”

With a soft sigh, you wrapped your arms around John’s waist, “They’ll find something.”

“They better. The last thing we need is a pyromaniac runnin’ ‘round town.”

* * *

 

Dean’s flashlight swept back and forth across the abandoned property where the semen had been found. He tried to keep his mind clear, otherwise he’d focus on the negative and not the task at hand. There had to be something they missed, there just **had** to be! But it didn’t matter how long they looked, both he and Benny came up empty-handed.

After dropping Benny off at his apartment, Dean drove around town; seeing, but not paying attention to his surroundings. There was something gnawing at him, something that made his skin crawl, but try as he might, he couldn’t figure out what it was. Exhausted and in desperate need of a shower, Dean headed home.

**4 MONTHS AGO**

He couldn’t put it off any longer, he needed to feel the heat of the flames against his skin. He spent the last month searching for the perfect building. A building that was close enough to get noticed, but far enough that he’d get some extra time with the flames.

It was after midnight when the match was dropped into the acetone. The fire burned hotter and spread faster than before since he tripled the amount of accelerant used. The rush of adrenaline coursed through him, hardening his cock fast enough that it made him hiss. The flames roared in front of him as he opened his jeans and began stroking himself, cupping and squeezing his balls in his other hand, rolling them between his fingers. His breathing was erratic and it felt like he was soaring as he breathed in the smoke. When the coil in his belly felt like it was going to snap in half, he squeezed his balls and pumped himself furiously, holding his breath until he came with a violent shudder. The pain that shot up his thighs as he dropped to his knees did little to distract him as he came, pulsing stream after stream of thick cum into a rag. He wasn’t going to risk leaving anything behind this time. Putting the rag in a plastic bag, he stood on shaky legs and zipped up his jeans.

The splitting of wood came from above and he knew he had to get out of there. Slipping into the woods behind the house, he waited until he saw someone run down the street with a phone in hand. Only then did he leave.

* * *

 

Dean and Benny stood back, watching while the firemen made sure all the flames were extinguished. Bobby shook his head as he approached the two men.

“Sorry boys, my men haven’t found anything that might help, but we’ll keep an eye out.” Both detectives sighed in unison. Dean shook the fire chief’s hand, asking to be told first if they were to find something.

He kicked a rock, grumbling under his breath, “Two months.”

Benny furrowed his brow as he faced Dean, “What, brother?”

“Only two weeks went by between the first and the second fire, then a month until the third. It’s been two months since then.”

“What’s your point?”

“I’m not an expert, but shouldn’t the times between occurrences get shorter?”

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Benny looked at the destroyed house, “Copycat?”

“No. This is definitely our guy, I can feel it.” Someone behind Dean coughed. It was thick and heavy, as if the person was struggling to breathe. Both Dean and Benny turned, finding Gabe and the rookie Turner getting out of their squad.

Gabe clapped his partner on the back, “You ok there, kid?”

“It’s just allergies. My prescription hasn’t kicked in yet.”

**PRESENT**

John groaned low and heavy as he came to and tried moving. Pain roared through his legs, making him cry out, pulling in thick smoke that made his lungs seize. It felt like forever until he stopped coughing long enough to discover that his legs were pinned. What it was, he didn’t know. He tried not to panic by tapping into his time on the force, but it wasn’t helping. His heart pounded as fear slithered up from his gut and wrapped its long fingers around it.

 _Y/N. Dean. Sam._

John saw each of their faces as if they were there with him. He couldn’t… wouldn’t give up. If some asshole thought he’d take down John Winchester, he had another thing coming. Gritting his teeth, he used every ounce of his strength to move whatever was pinning him to the floor of his office.

* * *

 

Someone coughing pulled at Dean, shoving away the darkness of unconsciousness. His eyes shot open and he gasped as he remembered where he was and what happened. Every muscle in his body screamed as he tried to move. The only thing he could move was his head as he searched for someone… anyone. All he could see through the smoke and debris was his partner, lying not too far from him.

“B- Benny!” His throat was thick and scratchy. It felt like someone took sandpaper to it and made him gargle with broken glass. Benny coughed, but his eyes remained closed. There was also a gash on his forehead and it was oozing dark blood at a rate that Dean knew would kill him if he didn’t get help soon.

“Hold on, brother.” Dean shrugged his shoulders one at a time before trying to move individual parts of his body, seeing if anything was broken and determine exactly what was pinned down. Despite the rush of warm blood against his skin, he managed to get an arm out and, too slow for his liking, started wiggling, getting free an inch at a time.

* * *

 

Your son swayed side to side as you clutched at his back and sobbed. He held you until the river of tears stopped, as you grieved for the lives of those lost. He held you as you prayed for the men and women whose fate had yet been made known. Even after all of that, he held you, because in holding and comforting you, he was being comforted.

Bobby approached, hat in his hands and ash covering his face. “We haven’t found them yet, Y/N, but we’re not giving up.”

With fresh tears pricking your eyes, your legs gave out, but you didn’t fall; not with the iron grip of Sam around your waist. He picked you up and carried you away from the chaos and that’s when you noticed something strange. One of the officers was just standing there, watching with a creepy smile on his face. While everyone else was rushing around, trying to save people’s lives and whatnot, he just stood there, like he enjoyed what he was seeing.


	5. Chapter 5

**4 MONTHS AGO**

Dean sat at his desk, a toothpick hanging precariously close to the edge of his mouth and a pen twirling between his fingers, nervous habits he picked up his first year out of the academy. The timeline the arsonist was using bothered the detective. Instead of the arsonist setting fires closer together, they were growing farther apart. With a deep sigh, he leaned back and scraped a hand over his face. It wasn’t just the timeline that bothered him, nothing about this case made sense.

All signs pointed to Ben Braeden, but with a freshly-established rock solid alibi and no indicators that his acts of truancy and shoplifting would escalate to fires, the minor fell off the radar. Without Ben, there were no other suspects. No suspects meant that the trail might grow cold or another fire would be started, and God knows how many lives would be lost this time.

The death of Ellen hit everyone within the community hard. She was someone everyone could talk to and not feel judged. Many people called her aunt Ellen, Dean and Sam included, but the new generation started calling her grammy.

Feeling someone behind him, Dean spun in the chair and watched as LPD’s newest recruit hooked his thumbs into the top of his standard issue utility belt.

“Somethin’ I can help you with, Trenton?”

Sparkling blue eyes went wide, “N- no, Detective Winchester. I’m just waitin’ on my partner.”

Dean smirked, “You’re with Gabe, right?” Gabriel never had a partner for longer than two years. He was always playing jokes or tellin’ tall tales. One that always got the detective laughing until his sides hurt was that Gabe had starred in a porno as a pizza delivery guy.

“Yes, sir.”

Waving his hand in dismissal, Dean stood, “My father is called sir, just call me Dean.”

Cole shook the detective’s hand and worked hard at not cringing. He hated Dean with every fiber of his being. _Fuck_ , he couldn’t wait to stand over Dean’s burning corpse and watch as recognition took hold of him just in time to die.

“Got any new leads?” Cole nodded toward Dean’s desk where the thick file was left opened. All Dean could do was shake his head and pinch the bridge of his nose. The rookie approached Dean’s desk with caution.

“You mind if I take a look?”

Shrugging, Dean closed the file and handed it to Cole, “Couldn’t hurt to get a fresh set of eyes.”

* * *

 

**PRESENT**

Sam trudged away from the chaos and set you on the ground. Standing in the cool shade of Meg’s apple tree, your son wiped the ash from your face. “You stay here, I’ll see if anyone knows anything.”

“NO!” You clutched onto your son’s elbows as he tried to pull away from you. The face of the police officer, specifically his smile, was etched into your brain.

“Mom, I can’t just stand here and-,”

“I saw him… the arsonist. I… I know who he is.”

Even in the shade, you could see green and blue flickering to life in his hazel eyes, “You saw him set the fire?”

“No.”

“He admitted it to you?”

“No!”

“Then how do you know who it is?” You couldn’t be mad at your son, he was just doing his job, asking all the questions any good lawyer and police officer would ask.

“Call it a gut feeling.” In your family, that was as good as saying the arsonist confessed.

“Where is he, mom?” Sam spun on his heel as you raised a shaking hand. There, where you had been standing mere moments ago, stood a police officer that had yet to notice you point him out.

* * *

 

Dean, choking on the thick smoke, coughed until he gagged. Pulling himself across the floor, he had to stop, retching until his stomach was empty. It felt like it took forever to reach his unconscious partner, but in all reality, less than a minute had passed. Blood and ash coated Benny’s hair and forehead, pooling beneath the fallen detective and soaking into his clothes. Dean wanted to stand, to carry his partner out of the building, but the smoke would be thicker, therefore making it harder to breathe.

Rolling to his back, Dean dug into his pocket and pulled out the smashed cell phone, “FUCK!” Knowing that time was running out, he stood on shaky legs and, with hands tucked into Benny’s armpits, started dragging his partner across the demolished police station.

* * *

 

John coughed as the flames destroyed his office. Treasured family pictures and awards received over his illustrious career were turned to ash in the blink of an eye. Sweat rolled between his shoulder blades as he strained to move the burning beam from his legs, but it was no use, he was trapped. That didn’t mean he was about to quit. He hadn’t become commissioner by giving up.

With his eyes and lungs burning, John stretched out his arms and grabbed onto the legs of a sofa that had been secured to the floor several years ago. Praying they would hold, he pulled with every ounce of strength he had left; shouting as his legs shifted painfully beneath the timber. While he didn’t know the extent of his injuries, he did know one thing; his legs were broken.

* * *

 

**4 MONTHS AGO**

It didn’t matter how full Dean was from dinner, he’d still dig into the pie as if he were starving. You watched your son as he muttered under his breath, the pie stuffed into his cheeks making him look more like a chipmunk than a man, rolling his eyes in pleasure whenever he swallowed.

“Jesus, ma. Imma get fat if you keep cookin’ this way.”

You chuckled around the wine you were drinking, “Son, you been eatin’ like this for almost 30 years.”

Seeing how didn’t chastise your son for swearing, John took it upon himself, “Language, son.”

“Seriously, dad? I’m damn near 30.”

With your brow arched, you swallowed the rest of the wine, “Our house, our rules.”

Sam sat back and laughed as his brother rolled his eyes. “Good to know I’m not the only one catching hell for cussin’.”

“Don’t think you’re off the hook just yet, Sammy.” John beat you to the draw with your youngest son, but while his words were fatherly, his voice was anything but that. The three of you laughed while Dean finished shoveling the pie into his mouth. After Dean took a long drink of beer, he sat back with a hand on his stomach, the other played with the damp label as if he were nervous. Just when you opened your mouth to ask him what was going on, he spoke first.

“I showed the file to Trenton.”

“Who?” John rested his elbows on the table.

“Cole Trenton, a rookie partnered with Gabe.”

“And what does he have to do with it?” All decisions about who was involved in a case or who was brought on to confer went through the commissioner, and John didn’t approve this.

Dean mirrored his father, “He’s a fresh set of eyes, dad, figured it couldn’t hurt.”

“Dean, there are processes and protocols in place-,”

“Come on, pop, it’s bureaucratic bullshit! What if he finds something we missed? What if-,”

“They’re there for a number of reasons!”

Growling in frustration, Dean shoved back from the table, “And what reasons are those, huh? So this asshole can wander free and start more fires, so he can **kill** more people?”

You stood and slapped your hand against the table, “ENOUGH!”

Green eyes flashed as they met yours, “Mom, come on. Even you gotta see-,”

“Dean, I said enough.” The tension was palpable, thrumming through the air like electricity. No one made a noise for several moments, until Sam cleared his throat.

“Come on, Dean. Let’s go outside.”

With hands balled into fists at his sides, Dean’s chest was heaving as the adrenaline coursed through him. He stared hard at you and John, frustration and anger raging in his eyes. It was when John stood and turned away that Dean shook his head, mumbling something neither of you could hear. Your sons walked out of the house moments later.

John was at the sink, hands on the edge of the counter, head hanging, and shoulders bowed. He didn’t move until your hand slid up his spine and you grabbed his wrist with your other hand. The smile he gave was small, almost defeated.

“He’s as stubborn as you are.”

He chuckled when you shot him a wink, “I think he gets it from you.”

Feigning shock, you placed a hand over your heart, “Me, stubborn? Well, I never!” John pressed a kiss to your forehead, scraping his stubbled chin against your nose.

Sighing as he kissed you, you squeezed his wrist, “You know he’s just trying to help, right?”

“I know, baby girl. It would just be so much easier if he would’a brought it to me first.”

“John, what would you have done? And before you answer, don’t go givin’ me the textbook answer.”

He stared down at you with molten chocolate eyes, sighing as he tucked some hair behind your ear. “Exactly what he did.”

* * *

 

**3 MONTHS AGO**

Fires weren’t cutting it anymore, he wanted something better and bigger. He wanted something… more. Did his cock still throb every time he struck a match? Sure, but it wasn’t the same as it used to be. Before, it took less than two minutes before the lack of fresh oxygen surged through him until he came all over his hands. Now, his release was just out of reach, frustrating him to the point that he had to be damn near surrounded by flames before he could cum.

With everything he would need in a brown paper bag, he waited until the sun dipped below the horizon before heading out. Approaching the warehouse, he felt like a kid on Christmas morning, giddy and nervous, ready to tear open his presents.

“This is gonna be fun.”


	6. Chapter 6

**3 MONTHS AGO**

The fire had been put out hours ago, yet ash still fell from the sky, drifting down like snowflakes at the end of a winter storm. John stood across the street, talking with his sons and Chief Singer. Bobby had taken off the faded yellow fireman’s hat when the Winchester’s approached, partially out of respect for the commissioner and partially because it was hotter than hell.

With a hand unbuttoning the jacket, Bobby shook his head, “I dunno what to tell you. This is completely different than the previous fires.”

“It’s him, dad, he’s finally escalating.”

John looked at Dean, “Without definitive proof-,”

“Fuck definitive proof!”

“Excuse me?” John dropped his hands and faced his oldest son.

Without realizing what he was doing, Dean puffed his chest out, “You heard me. I’m fucking sick and tired of doin’ this job the ‘right’ way! We all know it’s him!”

As John took a step closer, Sam pressed a hand to each of their chests. “Alright, alright, back off, the both a’ya.”  Father and son glared at one another, hands balled into fists at their sides, and chests heaving. It wasn’t until Sam pushed them back and gave a shout that they heeded his words.

“Dean, I get it, you’re frustrated. Hell, we all are, but we don’t even know who this guy is,” Sam kept his voice free of the anger that threatened to burst out at any moment. The arsonist had everyone in Lawrence sleeping with one eye open, if they slept at all. Anger, frustration, and fear was everyone’s go to emotion.

Blowing out a harsh breath, Dean shoved a hand through his hair. “Y- yeah, I guess.”

“We’ll git him, son, we just have to find somethin’,” Sam looked at Bobby as the chief spoke.

“That’s all we seem to be sayin’ lately, ‘we’ll get him, we’ll find something’. I’m sick of it! I just want to catch this asshole!”

The older man nodded in agreement before putting the fire hat atop his head. “I’ll let y’all know when we find something.”

 

* * *

 

 

Behind his desk, John shrugged out of the dark blue suit jacket just as the phone rang. He waited until his tie was loosened before answering, “Commissioner Winchester.”

“Did you like what you saw?” The voice changing software gave his voice an electronic tone, completely concealing his identity. It was well worth the money!

“Who the hell is this?” John growled into the receiver.

“All in good time, my friend.”

Pushing the call button for his secretary, John knew he had to keep the perpetrator talking. “Trust me, I ain’t your friend.” Karen Singer popped her head in, ready to ask what John needed, but he waved her into silence. He scribbled a note, _arsonist on 4, need trace!_ Swallowing hard, Karen ran out of the room.

“Hmmm, you’re right, poor choice of words.”

John glanced at his watch. If the trace was started right away, all he needed was a minimum of thirty seconds. He could do that, right? “What do you want?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You have to want something. Otherwise you wouldn’t be calling.”

He sighed heavily, blowing into the phone. “I just wanna watch you burn.”

John stopped pacing. “Why is that?”

“You really expect me to tell you that right now?” The synthesized laugh sent a shiver down the commissioner’s spine. “No, you’ll find out soon enough, trust me. Bye… for now.” The line clicked loudly in John’s ear and he didn’t have to look at his watch to know the trace was unsuccessful.

Karen entered the office and watched as John dropped the receiver into the cradle. “Sir,” she carefully approached her boss, “what should we do?” She, along with several other officers, heard the exchange.

John blew out a breath, straightened his tie, and pulled on his jacket. “Get Y/N and my boys.”

 

* * *

 

 

**PRESENT**

Dean was coughing so hard, stars cluttered his vision, but he wouldn’t give up, not when the life of his partner hung in the balance. Bent at the waist and hands clasped together against Benny’s chest, Dean grunted and groaned with every step he took. Just when it felt like his chest was about to explode, fresh air surrounded him. _Finally!_

Two EMT’s lifted Benny onto a gurney while Chief Singer wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist. “Yer Mama’s worried sick.” He slapped an oxygen mask into Dean’s hand and half-drug him through the chaotic scene. Just as the smoke cleared from Dean’s vision, Cole burst past, his shoulder barreling into Dean’s.

“The fuck?” Bobby ground out as the duo turned, watching with confusion as Sam went running by. You ran up to your son and squeezed him tight, driving the freshly administered oxygen from his lungs.

“Mom, what’s going on?”

With tears in your eyes, you looked up at Dean, “It’s Cole, he did this.”

 

* * *

 

 

Free from the timber that had started to burn through his pants, John rolled to his belly and began to crawl along the floor, using his elbows for leverage. Every twist of his body sent pain shooting up his legs, but he ground his teeth and kept going.

The words of his old drill sergeant kept him moving, _Once a Marine, always a Marine. Never give up. Never surrender!_

John was panting by the time he crawled out of his office and the sight before him stole the remaining air from his lungs. It was destroyed, all of it. Fire angrily licked every inch of wood that hadn’t been destroyed in the blast. And the bodies, _my God_. Everyone, all of the people that reported to him, was gone. With a cry caught in his throat, John kept moving until a cop came running in. The officer hunkered down in front of John and, wearing a cold smirk, threw a punch that bounced John’s head off the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

**3 MONTHS AGO**

After having threats spewed at him his first week as commissioner, John made sure that all inbound and outbound phone calls were recorded. Never had he been more appreciative of that than right now.

_“No, you’ll find out soon enough, trust me. Bye… for now.”_

When the line clicked, Dean pushed off the edge of his father’s desk with a grunt. “That son of a **bitch**!”

You had taken to chewing on a fingernail and trying to focus on your breathing so you didn’t throw up. What had started with a few fires and the death of your best friend had turned into something personal, something vindictive, something… evil. Whoever was doing this had just threatened the life of your husband, and that made the ground beneath your feet shift.

Sam was the only relatively calm person in the room. With legs crossed and hands in his lap, he watched his father pace. “We should get you a protective detail.”

“What? Not a chance! I can handle things-,”

“Dad, someone we don’t know just threatened you.”

John arched a brow at his youngest son and placed his hands flat on the desk, “You think he’s the first scumbag to threaten me?”

“I know he’s not, but-”

“Sam’s right, Johnny,” your voice hitched in your throat.

“Baby, I can protect myself… I can protect you.”

Dean whirled around, “You gotta be kidding, dad. This guy… he’s a fuckin’ maniac that said he wants to watch you burn!”

“I know!” John’s voice echoed in the room, making you jump slightly.

You approached him slowly and cupped his face in your hands. “John, I know you like to handle things yourself and the last thing you want is to have a protective detail, but baby, please. I… if anything happened to you…,” your already shattered voice trailed off.

With a heavy sigh, John leaned into your touch, covering a hand with his. He stood there and stared down at you for several long moments before clearing his throat. “Who d’ya have in mind, son?”

 

* * *

 

 

John shook his head angrily, “He’s a fuckin’ rookie!”

“That may be, dad, but he’s good police.”

Grinding his teeth, John stared hard at Dean. “Don’t care. I want someone with experience, someone who ain’t still wet behind the ears, someone like-,”

“Yourself?”

“That so wrong of me?” Leaning back, John took a drink of the whiskey he got from the mayor earlier this year. A small yellow card still hung around the neck, _Happy Birthday._

Dean poured himself a healthy helping. “Nah, man. But… you gotta understand, pops, we want to keep you around for a little bit longer.”

Chuckling deeply, John spun his glass on the table. “Feelin’ sentimental there, son?”

“Shut up.” A comfortable silence fell, filled with hisses after taking a drink of whiskey and glass sliding against mahogany.

It wasn’t until John emptied his glass for the third time that he spoke. “What’s his name?”

Dean poured more of the aged whiskey into each of their glasses. “Trenton, Cole Trenton.”

 

* * *

 

 

**PRESENT : EARLY MORNING**

With the last bit of code written and the bombs in their places, Cole grinned. After almost twenty years, he would finally get his revenge on the Winchesters; he was going to kill each and every one of them. Now all he had to do was sit back and wait.


	7. Chapter 7

**3 MONTHS AGO  
**

“Commissioner!” The overzealous group of reporters hardly waited for John to finish his scripted statement before trying to gain his attention. John pointed to someone towards the front, not really paying attention to who it was.

“What about Ben Braeden, Commissioner?” It was Cassie Robinson with the Lawrence Journal.

Since he didn’t need to read any further, John pulled off his black-rimmed glasses and stuffed them into his pocket. “Ben Braeden is no longer considered a suspect.”

“Are there any other suspects at this time,” Cassie shouted her question, making sure her voice wasn’t lost among the masses.

“We are going over everything with a fine-toothed comb.”

Again, Cassie shouted, “You don’t sound very confident, Commissioner. How are the residents of Lawrence supposed to go about their daily routines?”

“I assure you, LPD is doing everything in their power to find the person responsible.”

It was Lilith’s turn to speak up. She also worked at the Journal, but her methods were different than her co-workers. “Is it true that there was a threat called into your office yesterday?”

Before answering, John arched a brow and swallowed thickly. “Thank you all for coming.” Questions and requests for a quote were shouted out, following John as he disappeared into the building.

You greeted him with a smile and a soft kiss. “You look upset. What happened?”

“Someone asked about the threat. Who have you guys told?”

Sam shook his head, “Just Charlie, told her to keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.”

Dean shrugged a shoulder under the intense gaze of his father. “Benny and Cole, that’s it.”

Blowing out a breath, you looked up at your husband. “We might have to prepare ourselves.”

“For what, ma?” Dean looked at you with confusion darkening his eyes.

It pained you to say it, the last thing anyone expected was a dirty cop. “Looking into one of our own.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**PRESENT**

“Where is he, mom?” Sam spun on his heel as you raised a shaking hand. There, where you had been standing mere moments ago, stood a police officer that had yet to notice you point him out.

The last few months you had trusted him, placed your life… the lives of your loved ones in his hands, and it had been him all along. How had you missed it?! Anger coursed through your veins and your heart thundered in your chest as Cole turned. As soon as he saw you and Sam, an evil smile pulled at his mouth. Even worse, the bastard winked before turning away and disappeared into the chaos. Sam didn’t need you to tell him to go; he was in pursuit before you could blink.

The natural reaction to run hit you like a tidal wave, so you took off after Cole and Sam, determined to see the little asshole pay for what he had done. Just as some smoke cleared, you watched Cole smash Dean’s shoulder with his. He and Sam disappeared as you slid to a stop, squeezing Dean with everything you had.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Dean rasped, his cough thick and terrible sounding.

With tears in your eyes, you looked up at your son. “It’s Cole, he did this.”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean went to follow, but Bobby’s iron grip around the younger man’s waist kept him from moving.

“I know what you wanna do, son, but you gotta take care of yourself right now.”

Dean ripped off the oxygen mask and managed to push away from Chief Singer. “Fuck that!” He was turning and running back into the burning building as you screamed, begging him not to do this.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Cole, despite having shorter legs than most men, always had a knack for running. He knew exactly how to breathe, how fast to pump his arms in coordination with his legs, when to speed up, and when to slow down. So it was no surprise that he had a pretty good lead on Sam.

The Assistant District Attorney was wearing dress shoes and shouting, “Wait ‘til I get my hands on you, you son of a bitch!” Sam pulled in thick clouds of smoke as he ran, coughing violently enough that he had to slow his pace. He knew that there was minimal smoke on the floor, but, “Fuck it!” He wiped at his watering eyes and pushed on.

Turning a corner, Cole put on his gloves and grabbed a broken piece of wood. It was exactly what he needed to get Sam off his back. He pulled in shallow breaths and listened for the tell-tale sounds of the youngest Winchester.

He didn’t have to wait more than a minute before Sam’s expensive shoes slid through the ashes. Cole, having already taken a batter’s stance, swung the beam with all his might. The sound of wood connecting to flesh and bone was almost deafening, even over the crackling flames. Cole, now holding the beam like a nine iron, stood over a bleeding and unconscious Sam. He was about to take a swing to Sam’s temple when he heard something that didn’t belong; someone was grunting.

Cole turned and headed toward the sound. _You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me!_  John was pulling himself along the floor, trying to escape. _Not today, old man._  He hunkered down in front of John, smirked as recognition washed over the injured man’s features, and threw a punch that bounced John’s head off the floor.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dean’s feet slid through the ashes that coated the tiled floor, almost falling on his ass, but he quickly righted himself. Even though his eyes had finally quit watering, it was hard to see through the smoke; now they just burned and felt like sandpaper every time he blinked. Trying to stifle the coughs that clawed at his throat, Dean un-holstered his pistol and began making his way down the long, smoke-filled hall.

He turned the corner and found his brother, bloody and unconscious. Dropping to his knees, he pushed two fingers into Sam’s neck, searching for a pulse. It was thready, but it was there. Despite the fact that Cole was in the wind, Sam was hurt, and nothing else was more important than getting Sam out of there. After securing his gun, Dean grabbed his brother by the armpits and hauled him out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**3 MONTHS AGO**

Cole, in street clothes and drinking a cup of shitty coffee, walked around the block for what felt like the hundredth time; not that it bothered him. Being on security detail meant that there was more time he could dedicate to perfecting his plan. Some might say that twenty years is too long to exact your revenge, but you know what else they say? Revenge is a dish that’s best served cold.

Whenever he closed his eyes and thought back to that night, he could still see the gun, smoke drifting up from the barrel, shaking in the hands of some beat cop as Edward Trenton dropped to the concrete. The same cop that wrapped his dark blue jacket around Cole’s shoulders, got down to his knees, and looked at him with caring, chocolate eyes, telling the child that everything was going to be ok. That was the day Cole vowed to kill John Winchester, no matter what it took.

Chuckling to himself, Cole turned up the sidewalk just as Dean exited the house. They smiled at each other in passing, bidding the other a good day; though Cole had a feeling Dean didn’t really mean it. Dean was too much like his father; arrogant, only caring about himself, and not giving a damn about who gets hurt. There was no way Cole was going to allow anyone else to get hurt by the Winchesters.

He waited until Dean pulled away to take the next step of his plan. Making sure no one was around, Cole disappeared around the corner of the house and dropped to the ground. While he writhed in the dirt and leaves that had yet to be taken care of, Cole punched himself in the face and gut. Standing, he took several deep breaths before throwing himself against the hundred year old bricks, grunting as he landed on his hands and knees. Again and again, until he could hardly breath, until he was satisfied with his reflection in the window.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

You watched Dean get into the car John gave him for his 25th birthday. The deep rumble made you sigh; you missed going for rides in the classic car. There were so many memories tied to the black beauty that it was hard not to find one **not** associated with her. You even remembered the way you laughed when John told you he named her. Everyone you knew called her Baby; John wouldn’t have it any other way.

“What are you laughin’ about?”

You turned and found John leaning against the doorframe and wearing a lopsided smirk. “Just reminiscing, Johnny.”

He pushed away and dropped a kiss to your forehead once he was standing in front of you. “About?”

“How we used to go for rides before the kids came along.”

Smirking playfully, John wrapped his arms around your waist and started swaying. “Those were the good old days, huh?”

You were pushing up to the balls of your feet when the front door burst open. Cole, severely beaten and bloody, stumbled in. John rushed to Cole’s side while you disappeared into the kitchen and grabbed a wet towel. When you returned, John looked as if he was the one that got punched.

“What is it, Johnny?” You dropped to your knees and began wiping the blood from Cole’s knuckles. John ran a hand through his hair as he started to pace. He was mumbling to himself, disbelief clouding his features.

Cole shifted in the chair, wincing at the sting of pain. “It’s Gabriel, ma’am.”

With your brows drawn together, you sat back on your haunches. “What about him?”

He looked at you with one eye as the other was almost completely swallowed by bruises and blood. “He did this, he did everything.”


	8. Chapter 8

**2 MONTHS AGO**

John slammed his hand against his desk in frustration. “What do you mean, you can’t find him?”

Dean felt the weight of Benny’s nervous gaze as he swallowed thickly. He worked hard to keep his voice neutral, “We looked everywhere, Commissioner.”

“That’s not good enough, Detective,” John’s voice echoed through his office.

Taking a step towards his father’s desk, Dean looked down at his notes. “We checked out all of his known hangouts, talked with anyone and everyone; no one has seen Gabriel since Cole was attacked.”

John looked up at his son with piercing eyes and ground out a command, “You find that son of a bitch, or you’re back patrolling your old beats.”

Dean clenched his jaw in frustration, biting back the smart ass comment that teetered precariously on the tip of his tongue. With a curt nod, Dean turned on his heel and stalked out, Benny trailing after him. Neither of them said a word when they got back to their desks, just dove right back into the files they had on every known associate of Gabriel’s.

 

* * *

 

 

After Benny closed the door, you stood from the chair and came around the desk, meeting your husband’s intense gaze. “You know they’re doin’ all they can, baby.”

John blew out a heavy breath, his shoulders sagging slightly under your hand. You couldn’t imagine the amount of stress and responsibility that your husband was feeling right now. One of his men had taken a life instead of doing everything in his power to protect it. The sharp sting of betrayal was one thing when it was something minor, but this was on a whole different level. There was no amount of _it’s not your fault_ ’s that would make this better.

“Do you have any idea how badly I want to get out there and find this scumbag?” Being the Police Commissioner meant that John had to retire from the force. Oh, he still had a badge and his gun in a holster, but on paper he was no longer a member of the Lawrence Police Department. The only ‘bad thing’ about John taking the position his father held before him, he still had the heart and soul of a Detective and there were days that it drove him mad.

You turned his chair and stood between his legs, fingers scraping through his thick charcoal grey hair. You watched the rage drain from his warm chocolate eyes, smiling when his brow unknotted. “There you are.”

He sighed contentedly, his hands resting on the back of your thighs, fingertips tickling the back of your knees. “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

Shaking your head, you grabbed the back of his neck. “No, do not be sorry. Use it, that fire in your gut, that need to get him, by all means use it. Just… just promise me you won’t let it consume you. Promise me that I will get you back.”

Being a cop’s wife, then the wife of a Detective, and now a Commissioner’s wife, you had seen too many men and women lose themselves down the long, dark path of revenge. They always had the best intentions when they took those first steps, but the many twists and turns changed them, turned them into a shadow of their former selves. By the end, they were completely unrecognizable by even their closest loved ones.

John smiled softly before turning to kiss the inside of your forearm, his softer-than-it-looked beard tickling the sensitive skin. His breath blew hot, sending a different kind of shiver down your spine, “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

**1 MONTH AGO**

Gabriel moaned as his eyes fluttered open, pain screamed inside his head, exploding like a grenade, making him feel like he was going to throw up. He tried to lift his arm, but something stopped him. “What the…”

“It’ll all be made clear in a few minutes.”

Everything snapped into focus at the sound of his partner’s voice. “Cole, wh- what’s goin’ on? Where am I?”

Cole circled his partner, a plastic red jug _thump-thump_ ing against his thigh. “I wish there was another way. I really like you.” He tipped the red jug as he continued to walk, only stopping when the circle was completed.

The sickening smell of gasoline made Gabriel’s eyes and throat burn. “What the fuck?!”

“Don’t you see? It’s the only way.” Cole reached into his pocket and withdrew a small black book of matches.

Gabriel’s hazel eyes went impossibly wide as he pulled against his bonds. “No! Cole, don’t do this, please. Y- you don’t have to do this!”

“You’re wrong, brother.” Cole struck a match against the rough strip and tossed it into the gasoline, smiling in wicked satisfaction as flames danced and spread with an audible _whoosh_.

Trapped in the middle of circle of fire, Gabriel did everything in his power to get free; twisted his wrists until the rope split his skin, arched his back, and bucked his hips. What he didn’t know, was that at his back was a thirty gallon metal drum, and it was filled to the brim with acetone. With one last surge of adrenaline, Gabriel screamed and twisted his body. The drum, and Gabriel, fell over, sending waves of accelerant into the orange and red flames.

 

* * *

 

 

John was in the garage, leaning against the rear panel of the sleek black car and nursing a beer. It was late and he should be inside looking at the files on Gabriel, but the words had started to blur together and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why Gabriel would go against everything he had been taught.

Everything John had been told, everything he had read, all pointed to Gabriel being a stand up police officer. Granted, he was a jokester, often times going too far, but it was all in good fun, he never meant any harm. So what happened to turn him into an arsonist and murderer?

So lost in his thoughts, John didn’t know you were there until you cleared your throat, making him jump slightly. “Sorry, Johnny.”

He dipped his head to kiss you sweetly, rubbing his nose against yours. “S’ok. I was just thinkin’.”

You leaned against the car, your hip touching your husband’s, his arm draped around your shoulders, yours at the small of his back. “Something is bothering you.”

“You mean besides the fact that it’s a police officer.”

With a heavy sigh, you gave his hip a squeeze. “Yes, Johnny, besides that.”

John didn’t say anything right away, not until after he finished his beer. When he did, you almost didn’t hear him, “It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Does it ever?”

Before John could reply, his phone rang. He answered it before the third ring, “Yeah?” You watched as his expression went from perplexed to tight with anger, every muscle taut and ready to snap. “I’ll be right there.”

You waited until he hung up. “What’s happening?”

He looked at you with dark eyes, his voice almost as dark, “Another fire.”

 

* * *

 

 

The fire, almost completely under control, was still crackling, flames reaching for the clouds when Fire Chief Singer met John halfway. “Commissioner.”

John shook Bobby’s hand, but didn’t meet his gaze; the dancing flames held his attention. “Chief, you said there was a body.”

“‘Fraid so. It was in the basement where the fire originated.” Bobby turned and began walking towards the tent that had been erected to keep the charred body hidden from curious and prying eyes.

The smell of burnt flesh and metal turned John’s stomach. “Fuck, that’s horrible.”

“Wait ‘til you see it.” Bobby waited until the flap closed behind John. Once it did, he pulled the white tarp back, revealing a black and still sizzling body that, due to the high heat of the flames, had fused with a metal drum.

John ground his teeth hard enough that Bobby could hear it from across the tent. Kneeling down, John looked long and hard at the crispy corpse, shaking his head before standing tall. “We know who it is?”

“Not yet. ME’s on the way. I’m sure they’ll have no choice but to pull dental records,” Bobby sounded tired. “But I have a feelin’ they won’t be needin’ ‘em.” He held out a slightly burnt piece of paper for John to read.

_I might be gone, but you will never forget about me. Especially with what I have planned next.  
See you in the next life._

_-G_

 

* * *

 

 

**ONE HOUR AGO**

The last month had been relatively peaceful, but that didn’t mean everyone in Lawrence wasn’t a nervous wreck, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Dental records had come back a perfect match, it was Gabriel that perished in the fire. While it wasn’t 100%, it was also confirmed that Gabriel had written the letter. There was other evidence found at his apartment, but despite all of that, something wasn’t sitting right with you. You had known Gabriel since he was a kid, he went to school with Dean and followed him into the Academy. He might have rubbed a lot of people the wrong way with his constant jokes and tricks, but he wasn’t what you would call a bad kid.

You walked into the kitchen with a handful of orange tulips, pulling in their aroma with a satisfied hum. Gardening was cathartic, feeling the dirt between your fingers and under your nails, it made you feel like you were a part of something, as silly as it might sound.

You washed them in the sink and snipped the stems before getting a vase from under the sink. Fresh water and some plant food had been mixed, the flowers had been dropped in, and you were on your way to the table when you felt the ground beneath your feet quake.

The explosion brought everything to a halt. It didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing, the entirety of Lawrence felt the shock wave; even on the outskirts of town.

You pulled yourself off the kitchen floor, not caring that the now broken vase bit into your palm, drawing blood; there was something bigger that held your attention. The knot deep in your belly wound tight and it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

_The police station._

You didn’t need to turn on the news to know which building exploded. There had always been threats against the men in blue, but the last six months had those men on high alert. Today was the day those threats had been acted upon.

The lack of sound as you ran from your house was less than slightly disturbing. There was no sound only because the blood rushing in your ears made it feel like they were plugged with cotton, muting everything and everyone around you. Even the shrill cries of your best friends as you ran down the street didn’t register. All you could think of was your husband and son.

You slid to a stop as you rounded the corner of 5th street. Even from six blocks away you could see them, angry red and orange flames stood out against the now dark grey sky, and that’s when your ears popped. The years of being a nurse kicked in and while everyone would be rushing away from the destruction, you ran toward it. Almost breathless and turning the corner of 11th street, you were driven to the cement when another bomb exploded behind you. This one was bigger than the first and made you feel like you were going to throw up.

_No! Please no. Not my baby, too._

Someone grabbed your arm and pulled you from the ground. Their face was a blur and they sounded like they were at the other end of a tunnel. He shook you none-too-gently. “Mrs. Winchester, can you hear me? Hey! Look at me. Mrs. Winchester!”

You gripped the dark blue lapels of Cole Trenton’s rookie blues and opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Before trying again, you swallowed the massive lump in your throat. Having succeeded only slightly, your voice was thick, “Tell me they’re safe, Cole.”

He ground his teeth and dug his fingers into your shoulders. “I… I don’t know.”

 

* * *

 

 

**PRESENT**

John woke with a start, heart thundering in his chest and his lungs screaming for air that wasn’t thick with smoke. He tried to move, to get off the floor, but the white hot flash of pain that erupted in his legs made him shout out. Taking in his surroundings with wide eyes, everything that happened came back to him in a rush. The last thing he remembered was getting knocked out by one of the men that he employed to serve and protect.

“You’re a damn hard man to kill, John.,” Every ounce of hatred Cole felt dripped off his tongue as he approached the wounded Commissioner.

Gritting his teeth, John shifted on the floor. “Takes a lot more than a coward to kill me.”

Cole crouched down and pressed a blade under John’s chin. “We’ll see about that.”

John sneered as steel scraped through his beard. “Son, you’d do best to get that knife away from me.”

Narrowing his eyes, Cole continued to flick the knife back and forth, always scraping, never cutting. “Do you _really_  not know who I am?”

“Besides the spineless prick that just blew up my precinct, no.”

“I could end you, old man, before you could even fucking blink.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Fuck_ , Sam was heavy. Dean felt like he was on the edge of blacking out as he drug his brother out of harm’s way. When Bobby ran up and grabbed Sam’s legs, the two men worked together, bringing Sam to a newly arrived ambulance.

Bobby made sure Sam was breathing before turning to Dean. “You find your old man?”

Coughing harshly, Dean shook his head before running a hand over his ash covered face. “No. I’m goin’ back in.” He gave one last look at his brother, giving you a nod before turning on his heel and running back in.

 

* * *

 

 

John worked to keep the cringe of pain out of his voice, “But you won’t, not yet, am I right? There’s something that you want to tell me. I can see it in your eyes.”

Even though Cole stood quite abruptly, he made sure to not slit John’s throat, just nicking his chin enough to draw a pained hiss from the older man. “They say that hindsight is 20/20.”

“That is how the saying goes. What’s that got to do with you?”

Cole twirled the blade in his fingers as he paced back and forth in front of John. “My father was never going to win father-of-the-year, no matter how much he thought he deserved it. But I’ll give him credit where it’s due, he tried. Fuck, he tried so goddamn hard, John. But you see, there were people that couldn’t see that, they only saw him as a drunk, a deadbeat, a thief.”

John rolled his eyes and ground his teeth as he shifted on the hard floor, frustration chasing the pain through his veins. “I get the feeling this story doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“But being labeled just pushed him, made him try harder, wanting to prove all the naysayers wrong. You ever try to prove people wrong, John?” When the Commissioner cocked a brow in response, Cole smirked. “You and him were a lot more alike than you care to admit.”

“Oh my God, son, get on with it already. Why are you doing all of this?” John roared, pain thick on his words.

Cole was on John’s thighs, knees on his hands, and knife pressed deep into his throat; any more pressure and John’s throat would be slit. “You killed my father, you son of a bitch.”

 

* * *

 

 

With his pistol drawn, Dean scoured every inch of the now destroyed One Police Plaza, but John and Cole were nowhere to be found. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was so very tired. His lungs, eyes, and throat burned from the thick and bitter smoke, his legs and arms were shaking, but he wouldn’t… couldn’t give up. His father was still missing, and there was no way in hell Dean would rest until John was found.

He heard it when he descended the stairs; John’s voice, pain-laced and tight, demanding to know why Cole had done this. With a fresh surge of adrenaline, Dean rounded the corner and watched as Cole sat on his father’s lap, a knife in his hand.

“You killed my father, you son of a bitch,” Cole all but spat out.

If Dean didn’t act now… he couldn’t think about that. He gave no warning, just pulled the trigger, sending a bullet right through the back of Cole’s head.

John gave a surprised shout as blood splattered on his face and Cole fell to the side, knife clattering loudly on the concrete. He blinked rapidly and watched as Dean approached, holstered his weapon, and knelt in front of him. He huffed and clapped Dean on the shoulder.

Blinking rapidly at the prick of tears, Dean took in the severity of his father’s injuries. “Let’s get you outta here, Pop.”


	9. Epilogue

_“13-David, do you copy?”_

_John quickly swallowed the food in his mouth before answering, “This is 13-David, go ahead.”_

_“Got a call about a possible domestic situation.”_

_Meeting Jim’s gaze, John sighed heavily. “Let me guess, the Trenton residence.”_

_“That is correct, 13-David,” even over the radio, John and Jim could hear the sadness in Karen’s voice._

_“Roger that, Central. 13-David responding.”_

_Jim flipped on the lights and siren as John shifted the car into drive, pulling away from the curb with a screech of rubber on tar._

_Feeling the weight of Jim’s gaze on him, John shook his head. “Don’t look at me like that, Harvelle.”_

_“We’ve been there eight times this month.”_

_Tires squealed louder than before as John took a corner. “It’s our job, Jim. Besides, they got a kid the same age as Dean and Jo. What would you do in that situation?”_

_“Shoot the son of a bitch,” Jim scoffed. John couldn’t disagree with his partner. They were both taught that a man should never raise his hand in anger at his wife and children, no matter the situation._

_As the squad turned onto the street in question, John turned off the lights and siren, hoping to not alert Edward of their arrival. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Something heavy and wet smashed against the windshield of the car and John slammed on the brakes, knuckles white from tightly gripping the wheel. After violently shifting the gear into park, John and Jim exited the car with their weapons drawn._

_“Put your hands where we can see ‘em,” John demanded, adrenaline surging through his veins._

_“Whad’ya gonna do, shoot an unarmed man?” Wearing a cocky smirk, Edward walked over to his wife, pulled her off the ground, and draped an arm over her shoulder. Her face was cut, bruised, and bloody, and it turned both officer’s stomachs._

_Jim came around the open car door and started to walk closer, taking one slow step at a time. “We just want to talk, that’s all.” As if to show that he intended Edward no harm, Jim holstered his weapon._

_**The fuck you doin’?**  A knot formed in John’s throat as his heart thundered in his chest._

_“You hear that, Margie, they wanna talk. You wanna talk to ‘em?”_

_Yelping in pain, Margaret shook her head. “N- no, I d- don’t.”_

_“She said no, officers. You can go back to doin’ your job.” Edward spun on his heel, dragging his wife along for the ride._

_John didn’t like the situation one bit. He did what Jim had done, all except for holstering his weapon, but he did drop it to his side, hiding it in plain sight. “I wish it were that easy, Edward. You see, we got a call and we’re here to make sure everything’s ok. That’s our job right now.”_

_The air was already thick with humidity, but it grew even thicker when Edward stopped walking and turned to face the responding officers John. The look on his face as he shoved his wife to the ground was dark and menacing, the promise of violence thrumming through the air like electricity._

_“And the bitch told you there’s nothin’ here for you to do.”_

_Just then, the front door opened and out wandered Cole. Wearing nothing but a pair of underwear, he ran over to his mother and started crying, asking what daddy was doing and why the cops were at their house again. The officers exchanged a worried look, the addition of a tender-aged child just made the situation go from bad to worse._

_Knowing it was a risk, Jim, with his hands held up, started side-stepping over to mother and child. “I just want to check on your wife, Edward. Is that ok?”_

_“Don’t you dare fuckin’ touch her, you fuckin’ pig,” Edward snarled, spit flying through the air._

_As Edward followed the officer that was defying his command, John tried sneaking up behind him. It wasn’t exactly the way he wanted things to go, but if he could just get close enough to cuff Edward and put him in the back of the squad…_

_With an animalistic growl, Edward spun and lunged at John, both men hit the concrete with a mind-numbing **thud**. Light exploded in John’s vision as the back of his head smacked against the ground, grunting as the air was driven from his lungs by Edward’s shoulder. As if things weren’t bad enough, John’s 9mm clattered out of his grip._

_Towering above him, Edward kicked John in the gut once before stomping away, muttering curses under his breath, along with threats about killing the officer that had his attention focused on Margaret and Cole._

_It hurt like hell, but John scrambled to grab his gun. “FREEZE,” his voice was thick yet raspy._

_Edward didn’t turn, but Jim did, and even from fifty feet away, John could see the panic in his partner’s eyes. John hand no choice, he pulled the trigger three times. Cole and his mother screamed as Edward fell to the ground, his head sounding like a melon as it bounced on the sidewalk._

With a startled shout, John sat up, eyes wide, chest heaving, and muscles twitching. His legs were stiff and tangled in the damp sheets, but he managed to get them over the edge of the bed. He rested his elbows on his thighs and hung his head, groaning low in his throat when his shoulders bowed and muscles stretched painfully. He didn’t move as you got out of bed, pulled on a robe, and sat next to him, your hand on his sweat-slicked shoulder, thumb moving back and forth almost lazily. You didn’t say anything, you never did. You just sat there with him, waiting until his breathing evened out and his skin cooled down.

It had been one year since One Police Plaza and the courthouse were blown up, and John had been having nightmares every night since that horrible day. While his physical injuries had -for the most part- healed, his mind was still reeling.

Cole, a child that John had once saved, blamed him for the death of his father, for the animal he had become. You couldn’t imagine the guilt that John dealt with. It wasn’t his fault, not in a million years. John was doing his job, and, if it meant the safety and well-being of his partner and two other innocent lives, he’d do it again in a heartbeat. That’s what being a cop was about, doing what was necessary to save a life. And in that moment, it meant killing a drunk that seemed determined to destroy everyone around him.

John sniffled loud, running a hand over his face and through his hair, his breath hitched in his throat as your hand mirrored his. He leaned into you, his head on your breast, shoulder on your belly, and listened to the steady beat of your heart.

“How’s the pain, Johnny?” you whispered into his charcoal hair.

It took him several moments before he answered, “It’s gonna rain today.”

The scars on John’s legs were thick, long, dark pink, and went from mid-thigh all the way to his ankles. At first, the doctors said John would lucky to walk again without some kind of assistance; boy, did he prove them wrong. Within six months, he was using a standard cane. Three months ago, he took his first steps without it. Everyone cried that day, even your sons.

You sat there with John until his phone started to ring.

Groaning, he didn’t bother looking at the caller ID. “Commissioner.”

No one would be calling at this time if it weren’t something important. You stood up and tied the sash on your robe, dropped a kiss to his forehead, and went down to the kitchen to make some coffee. You had just poured yourself a cup when the front door open and closed. With a smile, you grabbed the mug that only Dean used, filling it and turning around just in time to see him walk in.

“Mornin’, ma,” he said with a kiss to your cheek.

“Must be bad if you’re here before your father is ready.”

He blew into his cup before taking a drink. “I’m the one who called him.”

You watched your son as he talked, noticing some new wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. You wanted to ask him how he was, but if anyone knew him better than himself, it would be you. Just like his father, he would say _I’m fine_ and that nothing was bothering him. It was the patented Winchester response, and even though it bothered you to the core, you knew there was nothing you could say or do to get them to admit they were anything but ok.

John came in wearing a blue three piece suit -standard Commissioner uniform- and without asking for help, he stood between you and the counter while you affixed his Commissioner pin and knotted his red and blue striped tie. With a finger under your chin, he bent down to kiss you, murmuring against your lips that he loved you. He shrugged on a black trench coat, grabbed the full thermos of coffee, and strutted out the front door with Dean close behind him. Waving from the front step, you watched as they drove away, waiting until you could no longer see the taillights before stepping inside and locking the door.

Freshly-filled cup in hand, you sat at the table and prayed. Just like every morning for the past year, you prayed for the safety of every police officer and detective, fireman and first responders, lawyers and judges; all 70 precincts and courthouses. With a stifled yawn, you stood and went into the kitchen, picking up the phone and dialing as you poured another cup of coffee.

The line rang only twice before Charlie answered, “Good morning, District Attorney Winchester’s office.”

Her voice always brought a smile to your face. “Morning, Charlie. Is my son in yet?”

“I’ll connect you, Mrs. Winchester. Have a great day.”

“You, as well, my dear.”

“Mornin’, ma,” he sounded busy.

“I won’t keep you, I know you’re schedule has changed.”

“Never too busy for you,” you could hear the smirk in his voice.

You pulled out a paper tablet and pen from a drawer. “I was going to start planning dinner for Sunday and was wondering if you’d be able to make it.” Since getting the position of District Attorney, Sam’s workload had increased exponentially, even missing family dinners some nights. Of course you understood, but what mother didn’t want to sit down with her family?

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. But mom?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“Could you set an extra plate?”

You stood straight up, the grocery list all but forgotten. “Sure, I can do that. Might I ask who will be joining us?”

“Her name is Jess, Jessica Moore,” the tone of his voice changed, it was lighter; happy.

“Well, I look forward to meeting her.” You could hear Charlie knock on the door and enter, muttering an apology about the interruption.

Sam’s voice was muffled for a moment before he came back, saying, “Sorry, ma, I gotta go.”

“Love you.” You hung up after Sam replied that he loved you.

Just a year ago, your lives had been turned upside down by someone you had all trusted, by someone that betrayed everything you all stood for. The road to today had been a long and twisted one, but there you stood, your husband and sons were alive, everything was getting back on track, and now, your son was bringing someone home. For the first time in a eighteen months, you felt like you could go through the day without looking over your shoulder.


End file.
